


Carnival

by 51PegasiB



Series: Team Player Verse [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, Gags, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Restraint, clothespins, pain play, restraint via hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 17:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12686595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51PegasiB/pseuds/51PegasiB
Summary: Darcy can't escape Loki in her dreams. Tonight she suffers in public for the pleasure of his subjects.





	Carnival

When she came to herself, people were bustling around her. It looked as though there were some kind of carnival or fair being set up. There were booths, tents and stages all around, along with the smells of many kinds of cooking intermingling. Many brightly-dressed people scurried in seemingly random directions. 

She was standing under the shade of a striped awning — like a tent, but open on all sides to the air. Suddenly she heard a sharp clap just behind her and spun around. Her master was before her. She dropped her eyes.

“Finally. I am turning you over to my gamesmaster. Obey him,” with these brusque words, he turned and strode off with great purpose. 

She turned to the man indicated and stared at him. He slapped her on the hip with a long riding crop. “Don’t be impertinent, slave.” 

She looked down. “That’s better. Come here.” 

The gamemaster’s hands were rough. He grabbed the heavy collar around her neck and jerked her forward. She scurried to avoid falling. He had her stand on a wooden platform suspended above water. She assumed it was a simple dunk tank like the one the principal back in high school always volunteered to be in to raise money at the band’s annual party. But then he roughly took a hold of her hair, split it into two bunches and plaited them roughly. Each was attached to something she couldn’t see. She cried out and he hit her again, a sharp blow on her thigh. He stepped back and she twisted her head to try to see what she’d been attached to. The ropes went up into the structure of the tent. 

Experimentally, she pulled her head forward. The ropes stretched, but the pull still hurt. She could feel tension creeping through her. Her arms were wrapped around her chest and the gamesmaster yanked them away roughly. He gestured to an assistant who brought heavy leather cuffs that matched the collar. He muscled her wrists into them and attached them together behind her back. He put some kind of bar between her legs, strapping it to each ankle so she couldn’t pull her legs closed.

As the assistant was on a ladder, attaching more strands of something to the support struts, the gamesmaster came up behind her and smacked her calf with his crop then climbed onto the platform with her. He grabbed a few of the strands now hanging around her and pulled its end down next to her skin. Darcy saw that it ended in some sort of springy clip. He barked some orders at the assistant and the length of each strand was slowly adjusted till it was taut between the support frame and her skin. 

While she was still observing all this with a certain amount of trepidation, the assistant tossed a medium sized bag at the master. The master ascended to the platform with her, once more, and pulled things outside of the bag. First came two smallish lariat-type things -straps that were perhaps ten inches long with wooden balls the size of a fist attached to each end and a slide toggle making a loop in the middle. 

He slapped her left breast and then pinched and twisted her nipple - hard. She cried out and twisted to try to get away from his harsh treatment, upon which her hair was yanked by the ropes it was attached to. “Please!” she said. He slapped her breast, hard. 

“Shut up,” he said evenly. One of the lariats went onto her left nipple, which had raised to his rough handling. He pulled it snug, but not painfully so, and the wooden balls were not too heavy as the rested on her belly. He repeated this performance with the right breast, locking the second lariat into place. He gave each of them an experimental tug. Neither one slipped off and he grunted, satisfied. 

He pulled one final thing out of the bag. It looked like a hose with a mouthpiece attached and some miscellaneous straps. “Open your mouth, girl,” he said. When she hesitated a moment, he raised the crop and brought it down for a swift blow on her hip. She obeyed, opening her mouth. 

He shoved the mouthpiece end of the hose between her teeth and strapped it to her head. IT shifted in her mouth and seemed to seal to the inside of her lips. He tossed the other end upwards to his assistant. She attached it to something up in the dimness and then came down. 

“Test the platform and then get her wired up. I have to check on other things,” the gamesmaster said. The woman bustled around and didn’t glance up at her. She moved out of Darcy’s field of vision and stepped back into it holding several balls. 

She tossed the first one, looking bored. It must have missed, because she frowned and stood more purposefully. The second hit glanced off something and the platform darcy was standing on chunked downward. Darcy’s hair tugged painfully. She couldn’t help making a noise. It came out formless and inhuman through the long tube. 

The third toss struck heavily. Darcy could hear the *thunk* The platform gave way beneath her and she cried out again as her head was jerked forward, her legs hit the water and the rest of her body followed. She was fully under the water. She could still breathe because of the tube. But suddenly the point of the strange nipple decorations became very clear to her. The wood was attempting to float up to the surface. As it did, her nipples were pulled painfully upwards. She kept crying through the tube. She tried to reach her hands around to do something about the painful tug. Her hair was being pulled upwards, too. She strained onto her toes and tried to kick upwards to relieve the pressure, but couldn’t move very well, restrained as she was.

Then a strap came around her waist from above and she was pulled upwards. The platform came back under her feet and she rested on it. Tears were leaking from her eyes, but water was streaming off of her everywhere. The assistant woman was on the ground, looking at her dispassionately. She touched something on a control surface and the strap around her waist fell away. Then, after she’d finished some complex series of touches, all of the dangling strings went taut and each of the rounded clips opened itself and clamped a piece of her skin. There were lines of them down the sides of her torso, rings of them arranged themselves on her breasts, and a line clamped down the inside of each thigh. 

The assistant climbed up to the platform and settled the last three clips, one on each of her nether lips and one directly on her clit. Darcy made another formless noise. The assistant didn’t pay any attention to her pain. “Keep still,” she said, sternly. “I don’t want to have to reset all this again till someone knocks you down.” 

The woman climbed down from the tank and left Darcy alone with her acute awareness of many points of pain. The sharp feel of each clip dulled over time. Darcy shivered some as she slowly dried off. The air had felt warm enough before she had gotten soaked, but it was a bit chilly, now. It slowly dawned on her that the sun was setting and lamps were being lit in various places around her. 

Someone she hadn’t seen before, came in and lit lanterns around Darcy. He started a round of carnival patter she could barely follow, but she knew he was inviting the fair-goers in to try to knock her down. 

It was some time before anyone even attempted it. The first few weren’t so hot at it. Their shots veering wildly off the mark. The patter-guy jeered at them and accused them of being too drunk to hit anything. They left, seemingly to get as drunk as he’d accused them of being. 

A daintily-dressed woman took a go, but seemed to be trying to knock individual clips off of Darcy instead of knocking her in the water. That’s how she found out how heavy and dense the little balls were. Each one felt like a fist. 

Finally a crew of rowdy people came up and they each took a turn. The first couple winged the target, each taking the platform down a notch, leaving Darcy dancing ineffectually on tiptoe. The third and fourth of the group hit nothing, but the fifth sent her down on the first try. She screamed loud and long as she was ripped away from the clips by gravity. Her hair and nipples were again ripped upwards and she struggled under the water. 

She couldn’t tell what was going on outside the tank, but she thought the people were laughing as she thrashed. The blood rushed into the places that had been pinched by the clips and she could swear it hurt more now than when they had first been placed. It felt like a long time before her waist was clamped and she was retrieved. 

The assistant reset all the clips. It didn’t take long and the night continued that way, a swirling miasma of pain, cold, wet and laughter. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, but it was the fourth or fifth time they reset her that she couldn’t keep her feet under her. The assistant woman took off the spreader bar at her ankles and she gratefully stretched and moved her legs. They left it off her the rest of the night, but they inched all the straps upwards, so she still danced on tiptoe every time she was dropped. 

The crowd thinned after a certain point. Eventually, her master came for her. She almost wept to see him. He climbed the platform and stood next to her, pressing against the clips painfully and looking into her wide eyes. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked her. 

Tears welled up and she nodded. He experimentally loosed the clamp on her clit an re-settled it. She squirmed and cried. 

“Show me how much,” he said. “Scream for me.” 

He started pulling the clips quickly, one by one with quick flicks of the wrist. He didn’t unclamp them, just pulled them off by their strings. She cried at each one. He left the ones on her pussy lips and her clit for last. He yanked the two on the lips at the same time, cruelly smiling at her scream. The one on her clit, he touched the string, making it vibrate, then suddenly a knife flashed out of his robes. He had cut the string, leaving the clip attached to her. Then he jumped off the platform, hit the target with one hand, and watched just beyond the glass as she fell into the water with a scream. 

She couldn’t tell what he said to the fellow who had been working the booth, but they both walked away, leaving her to scream and writhe alone in the cold water. She had managed to rip the clip off her own clit with her bound hands by twisting till she got a hold of the tail of string he’d left. So she had at least that much relief before all faded into darkness.


End file.
